Raven Saint Read Online Free PDF

lighting it from the lantern, he inhaled a draft, allowing the pungent smoke to fill his lungs and calm his fury. He would not give his friend the pleasure of seeing his inner turmoil. “She has no affect on me, mon vieux. I simply want her well.” Rafe circled the desk.
    Father Alers leaned back and clasped his hands together over his portly belly. “She will survive. Since that is all you care about, non?”
    â€œOui. I mean, non. I do not want her emaciated.” Rafe crossed his arms over his chest. “Does she take in fluids?” He’d seen many a stout sailor die from fever and nausea aboard a ship, especially if they refused to drink.
    â€œShe will not partake of the lemon juice—it contains liquor, she says—so I have brought her the water we collected in the last rain storm.”
    â€œShe will not?” Rafe gave a humorless snarl.
    â€œQuite politely refuses.” Father Alers crossed his buckled shoes at the ankles and smirked. “With sincere apologies. En fait, she treats me more as a friend than a captor.”
    â€œAs I saw.” Rafe puffed on his cheroot, masking the annoyance bristling his nerves.
    Father Alers shook his head. “I admire the woman. Despite her malaise, she spends hours in prayer. A true testimony to her faith.” He chuckled. “Be careful, Rafe, you may find that God answers her supplications.”
    Rafe snorted. “Strong words coming from a man who has spent the last four years hiding from God.” He poured himself another swig of brandy.
    â€œIf I am hiding from Him, then you are surely running.”
    â€œYou cannot run from someone who does not exist, Father. I run from no god and no man.” He downed the liquor.
    â€œPerhaps not. Yet you have proclaimed war upon both.” Father Alers’s golden eyes sparkled with playful humor. “And if you would, please abstain from addressing me as Father. I am no longer of the order.”
    â€œFrom Jesuit priest to ship’s cook.” Rafe smirked. “How far you have fallen.”
    â€œAnd you. From wealthy planter’s son to abductor of virtuous ladies.”
    Rafe puffed upon his cheroot, more annoyed at his friend’s continual approbation of Mademoiselle Westcott than the insult. “That you find the lady agréable, you have made quite clear.”
    â€œShe has a humble, kind spirit and her mood is always pleasant—which is more than I can say of you.”
    â€œYou live and die by my grace, mon vieux.” Rafe waved a hand through the air. “Why should I be pleasant?”
    Father Alers leaned forward in his chair and directed a patronizing gaze at Rafe. “Because it is in you to do so, Capitaine. You can call me old man, but I have known you since you were a boy, and the only reason I remain in your service is the charitable acts you perform.” He sighed. “Now what of la dame? Surely you do not intend to deliver her to this don.”
    â€œMais oui. That is my exact intention.” Rafe poured another swig into his glass.
    Father Alers shook his head, his chin sinking to his chest. “It is not like you. Never have you dealt in innocent human flesh. You’ve escorted prisoners, dealt in espionage, battled enemies in time of war, even thievery, but never this.”
    Guilt assailed Rafe’s already bruised conscience, and he downed the brandy. That was the problem. He had grown soft over the years. “Innocent? A lady?” He snickered. “None in her gender can claim such a state.”
    â€œThey are not all like Claire.”
    Rafe slammed his fist on the desk, unsettling its contents. “I told you never to speak her name.”
    Unmoved by Rafe’s outburst, Father Alers held up a wrinkled hand in acquiescence.
    Rafe ground his teeth together. “Besides, Grace is the daughter of Admiral Henry Westcott. Eye for an eye. Does it not say that in your Holy Book?”
    Father